


Whiskey Sour

by ianixela



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: AU, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, Ex Sex, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face Slapping, I'm tagging dub-con because drunk sex, Jealous Ben Solo, Jealousy, Manhandling, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Consensual Touching, ex partners, jealous Rey, the non-con touching/kissing is from an OC, this is a mess, trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:29:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23284045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ianixela/pseuds/ianixela
Summary: If Rey Niima had known that her heartbreaker of an ex-boyfriend Ben Solo would be at Poe's house party, with a new date on his arm, she'd have run the other way. Now, she has to drink Finn's extra strong whiskey sours to cope, and forget about her own dismal tinder swipe...
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Finn, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 22
Kudos: 160





	Whiskey Sour

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhhh wow this is...a MESS. I couldn't help myself with the cheesy college AU, although to be fair its just a foil for a house party full of young people who can't hold their drink and want to fuck. 
> 
> Warnings for: AU, bit of angst, jealousy, alcohol and mentions of drunkenness, non-con touch/kiss (from an unnamed OC), dubious dub-con of sorts (basically alcohol impaired decisions/forcefulness idek how to define it…I'd rather tag it just in case), strong language, manhandling, rough sex, sad Rey, unfortunate tinder dates, Ben Solo with glasses, "cunt" and other offences.
> 
> Enjoy the trash fire my quarantined friends!

Of all the places she’d expected to run into her ex, this party was the last of them.

Standing by the kitchen island, a red plastic cup in hand, there was no mistaking him: he was a good head taller than everyone around him, as usual, with a phalanx of girls surrounding him, laughing at his jokes.

His frankly _lame_ jokes, as far as Rey was concerned.

She’d heard through the grapevine that the dissolution of their relationship had not gone unnoticed by the numerous women who’d eyed him from afar when they’d been an item. Judging from the adoring crowd that surrounded Ben, vying for his attention, there was quite a bit of truth to the tale.

Ben looked good, she begrudgingly admitted. Sleek sable hair in shoulder grazing, glossy waves, charmingly disheveled, fashionably round glasses perched on the straight bridge of his nose, just enough facial hair to make him look delightfully scruffy. The sleek slate grey sweater falling elegantly from his broad shoulders offsetting his long, lean, black jeans clad legs perfectly.

His talent for instant attractiveness was undeniable, and a real pain in the ass at the moment. Rey’s idea of a fun night out away from her end of semester projects did not involve having her hot ex-boyfriend parading his harem in front of her.

She let her eye wander over to the date she’d brought over to the party, standing by the table where some raucous beer pong took place, engrossed in the game. Not unattractive per say, average really. He was an unfortunate tinder swipe with stunted conversation skills, and she cringed at the fact that she was stuck with him at this party. He looked downright ordinary when compared to her ex-flame, and that was doing nothing to improve her mood, sighing in displeasure.

“Is that Ben Solo over there?”

She groans in response, turning to face Rose, accepting the red plastic cup pressed into her hand.

“I don’t know why he’s here and I don’t particularly care to find out…”

Rose shrugs, shoulders touching the ends of her short black and blue streaked curls.

“I’m guessing Poe invited him, they’re in the same English lit class no?” Rose asks, taking a sip of her cup and wincing visibly, “Fuck that’s a strong drink…”

She’d have to talk to Poe, the party host, and his inconsiderate ass, that’s for sure…how dare he, invite her ex-lover to things she also attended?

She takes a sip of her own cup, nearly coughing at the fumes. The alcohol burned right down her throat, liquid fire balling up in the pit of her stomach, sour and sweet on her tongue. .

“Is that _pure_ alcohol? What the hell…” She asks, eyeing the amber contents of her glass.

“Not exactly but close enough…” Rose replies, taking another sip from the cup, “I let Finn pour them, he said it was a whiskey sour, so there’s your answer…”

Raucous laughter erupted from the kitchen, interrupting their discussion. Ben at the center of it, laughing along.

Seeing him so happy and unbothered only made her more annoyed. The tiny blonde girl clinging to his arm a little too affectionately didn’t help either.

“Who’s the girl with him? New girlfriend you think…” she asks Rose, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.

She’d never been good at controlling her emotions, which was great for her contemporary dance studies, and terrible for her relationships.

Two very emotional people with bold personalities. They had clashed, a lot. In good and bad ways. Mostly bad ways in the end.

They’d been broken up four months, the whole fall semester really, breaking things off after an explosive fight in August. She was still bitter about it, and she certainly hoped that getting blackout drunk from poorly mixed whiskey drinks would quell some of her surfacing feelings.

“I have no clue. A random date too maybe…want me to go scope?”

“Nah, I don’t care really…” she mumbles in her glass.

 _Did she? Did she really not care?_

She wasn’t so convinced anymore, looking at him from across the room, dim light catching on the high points of his face.

His skin glowed like moonstone in the kitchen’s warm halogen light, and she knew better than most how beautiful and smooth the skin all over his body was, her own skin heating at the unbidden memories of him naked in her bed.

At least she still had that. Memories. He’d taken everything else with him when he’d left her apartment and never returned. .

He’d taken her heart with him. At least that’s what it felt like.

Ben finally meets her eyes with his across the room, drawn to her gaze as if magnetized.

She’d hoped he would notice her, too petty to actually go say hi like a civilized ex-girlfriend. She’d be lying if she said that his profoundly surprised expression didn’t please her a little. It pleased her a lot.

She had the advantage of surprise, or so she rationalized in her alcohol addled brain. This drink really was strong stuff.

Ben’s face recovered to its usual confident expression, and he even had the nerve to nod to her in salute.

 _The nerve!_ Couldn’t he just pretend that he hadn’t seen her? Now she had to somehow reply to his gesture…

“Don’t you even _dare_ acknowledge that!” Rose hisses, pushing the hand she had lifted to wave down, “Are you forgetting the nights you spent crying your eyes out over his sorry ass!”

She remembers them alright, and the dent in her budget from all the retail therapy it had taken to get over him. Somewhat.

“Just ignore him, it's better for your sanity.”

It probably was. And besides, he clearly had company to take care of, watching the girl clinging to his side look up to him in blind adoration.

She takes another sip of her drink, a deep one, breaking eye contact with the man that had managed to turn her into a mere shadow of herself for months.

“Let's check out the beer pong, maybe your date isn’t that terrible with more whiskey in you…”

If that wasn’t college wisdom, she didn’t know what was.

* * *

Her world was hazy.

Her skin overheated and head swimming in a pleasantly muffled reality.

The twinkling Christmas lights strung haphazardly around the railing of the balcony like orbs of gold in her slightly unfocused vision.

She’d had enough alcohol to drown a small child, in the hopes that it would make her more apt at ignoring Ben, and more receptive to her date. Not that it was working too well, escaping the noisy, overheated apartment in favour of the icy winter night.

She’d managed to get away from her date, who was getting more handsy and annoying the more he’d had to drink. And the more she drank the least tolerant she was of his behaviour rather than the opposite, which was a recipe for trouble.

It was freezing cold out, the wind seeping through the little holes of her grey knit dress, wishing she’d worn tights rather than over the knee socks.

And a bra. Not wearing a bra was a mistake, crossing her arms on her rather flat chest. She’d been cursed with a rather unimpressive cleavage, much to her chagrin, but at least she never had to spend a fortune on undergarments.

The crisp air was good at clearing her muddled brain. Did nothing for the confused state of her heart though. That she’d have to deal with later. Tomorrow, next week.

Maybe never. She was too drunk to care.

It was strange seeing someone she had loved so passionately extend his affections to someone else. The little blond girl with childlike hands, eyes filled with admiration and agreeing with everything that came out of his mouth.

She was cute, in a little girl way. Soft, harmless. _Innocuous_ even.

Didn’t he have standards? Since when did he get interested in doll-like creatures without opinions? 

_Don’t judge the poor girl,_ She chides herself. _If anything, she’s probably smart and funny and as it happens will be in the same boat as you soon._

Misery loves company.

Maybe Rey had been too much to handle for him.

She knew full well that she wasn’t an easy personality to deal with, that her moodiness destabilized most sane people. She resented Ben for not trying harder, sometimes.

Not that she was blameless in the spectacular crash of their relationship.

They’d been good partners, pushing each other hard at their craft, wide awake in the early hours between night and dawn. Huddled in his studio apartment writing stories with their bodies, movement that crashed through hearts and minds, careened into existence from their creative chaos.

They’d worked beautifully together. She missed that energy that he brought into her art, her dancing.

They’d been good lovers too.

When they loved each other, they’d loved with a passion fiery enough to burn the building down, remembering sleepless nights tangled with him, his relentlessness, his insatiability.

Walking to her classes in the morning still feeling delirious with carnal pleasure.

That passion went both ways.

When it crashed, it was like hurtling down from a high rise, their fights as incendiary as their love.

Two artists with fiery temperaments. It was bound to fail at some point, was it?

Rey was still ruminating those dark thoughts, swirling the contents of her plastic glass, mostly whiskey at this point, when the sliding door behind her opened with a hiss and a wave of dry heat.

“I thought you’d gotten lost on the way to the kitchen.”

Her date. The _last_ person Rey actually wanted to see.

“I needed some fresh air.” She replies, not really caring to explain herself to a guy who lacked the capacity to understand basic sarcasm.

She knew she wasn’t being very fair to him, he probably was a fine young man with redeeming qualities. It just wasn’t a good night for her to be charitable, her gloriously beautiful ex-lover standing on the other side of the glass door.

Her date was probably quite nice. He simply wasn’t who she wanted.

He wasn’t _him._

“I bet you’re cold…” he says in a tone that sounded like he was trying to be coy, but failing in his drunken haze.

No one can be coy or smooth talking after twelve beers. That she could definitely forgive. She turned to face him and was immediately crashed into unceremoniously.

Before she could really process what was happening, his body was plastered to hers, the sharp scent of cheap body spray and spilled beer assaulting her nostrils. He radiated warmth against her cold skin. His lips were soft, softer than she’d expected, but the kiss wasn’t.

Sloppily excessive was a good way to describe it. Profoundly unpleasant, and quite unwanted.

She pushed him back with a little force and he stared at her, stunned for half a second before recovering with a smile.

“You’re a feisty one…”

He slurred in a tone screaming that there would be no feistiness from _anyone_ because he would soon be asleep in a corner somewhere.

She was about to give him a piece of her mind about kissing people without asking first when a large hand closed around her arm. And pulled her inside, fast.

Her head turned slowly, in a complete haze as she was dragged through the living room where people danced and laughed.

It was Ben, looking rather calm and pleasant, but she spotted that pulsing vein in his neck, that telltale sign he was about to blow up.

He guided her down the hall to the bathroom, shoved her in the small space in front of him and closed the door behind them with a click.

Locked it too, for good measure.

She barely had the time to turn to him that he was already leaning over her accusingly.

“What _the fuck_ was that about, Rey?” he hisses, voice low, and furious.

She blinks, taking a swig of what was left in her glass, miraculously unspilled despite being unceremoniously manhandled in a space the size of a closet.

“Um…I should be the one asking why the fuck you just dragged me in here with _you_.” She replies, watching his eyes getting wide behind his glasses.

He was definitely buzzed, pupils blown wide, a sheen of sweat on his sharp cheekbones.

“ _Excuse me_ ? I’m the one asking the questions! Why the fuck were you kissing that _maggot_ , right in my face too.”

He sounds quite offended, which would be absolutely hilarious if she wasn’t utterly shocked at this sudden reaction from him.

She drained her glass, wincing at the pure whiskey burning her throat.

“To be quite fair _he_ was the one kissing _me_ , but I’m assuming you were too busy not minding your own business to notice. And who are _you_ to tell me who I can and cannot kiss? You’re one to talk parading your date in front of me…”

Ben scoffs, broad shoulders squaring up.

“My date? She’s just a girl I swiped on tinder, it means nothing…” he explains, running his fingers through his hair frustratedly.

“Well, got my date on tinder too. Is that reassuring to you now? You don’t fucking own me, Ben, go back to your prospective girlfriend and leave me the fuck alone.”

He groans, rubbing his temples in that way she knows so well. She’s hitting a nerve, and she feels a perverse pleasure pushing it harder.

No wonder they’d spent half their relationship fucking and the other half at each other’s throats.

“ _She’s not my girlfriend_.” he enunciates, only getting more frustrated at her smug expression.

“Sure as hell didn’t look like that from the way she was clinging to you and laughing at every single one of your shitty jokes.”

“What the _hell_ has gotten into you?”

“A lot of fucking whiskey, but not enough to deal with your bullshit. Am I dismissed now?”

Rey wrested the arm still captive out of his grip and pushed past him to get to the door but he had other plans, grabbing her shoulder to push her against the wall.

“I’m not letting you go that easy, and especially not back to that… _guy_.”

He utters the word with absolute disgust twisting his lips. His very beautiful lips.

She was loathe to admit that there was something about his anger, the strong set of his shoulders, the annoyed cock of his brow that was endlessly attractive.

Like moth to flame.

“Kindly take your hands off me, asshole.”

The hand on her shoulder eases, but doesn’t let go, his eyebrow lifted in question.

“Or what?” Ben asks, and it's the mocking tone that makes her lose it.

Her hand flies back and before she can rein in the impulse, slaps him across the face, hard.

His glasses fly right off his smug face and fall to the tiled floor with a clatter, breaking the shocked silence.

There’s already a red handprint on his cheek when he reaches up to his own face, looking stunned out of his mind.

Rey has a hard time processing what she’s just done, gasping, looking at him wide eyed as he turns his face towards her.

His eyes are incandescent in their intensity, like a big cat staring at prey. She knows that look all too well, feeling her traitorous body heat up in response.

He leans closer, crowding her against the cool wall and she feels smothered, in a delicious way.

“I’d forgotten how fucking hot you look when you’re angry.” Ben hisses, hand tilting her chin back.

There is no time to even articulate a word.

His mouth is on hers. Hot and demanding. Hungry.

Forcing her lips apart with his own, the slick of his tongue against hers heady and familiar, making her lower body pulse in response.

Her mind is overwhelmed by the urgency in his kiss, his touch. Like he’s been holding back for ages and now that he gets a taste he can’t stop. She doesn’t want him to stop. She doesn’t even want to breathe, drinking him in, lungs burning.

Her body remembers him so perfectly, her hands clenching in the back of his sweater when his hips roll, slow and hard, between thighs that part for him of their own accord.

The throaty moan she lets out at the friction only makes him kiss her deeper, harder, and he lets go of her face to slide a hand between their bodies.

Ben knows where to touch, and how, his warm hand pressed up tight between her legs, radiating through the thin, damp lace of her underwear.

She clings to his shoulders when his mouth slides down her chin to her throat, teeth pressing against the most vulnerable part of her body, letting her head fall back in complete submission.

She has been so starved of intimacy, knowing deep in the pit of her stomach that it was only his touch that could satisfy the hunger that had been plaguing her.

She’d tried to satiate her need, but none of the men she’d met would ever fill the void. They weren’t _him_.

It feels so good to touch him, to bury her fingers in his thick hair, to feel the familiar contours of his body against hers.

To feel him tremble with need when his hand roughly shoves aside her underwear to slide two huge fingers in the slick heat between her thighs, the hot stretch stirring the heat pooling in her lower belly.

“I want you…I want you so _fucking_ bad…” he murmurs against the shell of her ear, wrapping a strong arm around her waist to hoist her up against him.

“Not here, are you crazy? Anyone could hear…” she protests, gasping when he pulls his fingers out of her.

“Here. Definitely _here_.” Ben counters, pulling her off the wall to back her up against the tiny sink counter.

Shoving his sweater over his head and off, skin pale and soft over tight, defined muscle. A dancer’s figure, lean and strong, perfect in every way. Body radiating heat when he leans over her, sinking teeth in the fleshy jut of her lower lip. His brown eyes are so beautiful in the dim light, lips bourbon sweet.

He’s been having alot of it tonight, she can tell. Maybe it's better that way, if they’re both drunk they can pretend this never happened later.

Or so she hopes, for her sake.

“I’m having you right here, right now. And I don’t particularly care what you or anyone has to say about it.”

He turns her around, making her gently lean over the cold counter, staring at their reflection in the dirty mirror with a grin that makes her snort.

“You want to watch yourself fucking me you narcissist ass…”

Her tone is playful, but the gleam in his eyes is anything but.

“I do. I’ve always loved seeing you squirm underneath me…” he murmurs against the back of her neck, hiking her knit dress over her hips, bunching it around her waist.

His thumbs hook in the waistband of her black panties, easing them down her legs until they pool around her feet.

He’s not looking at their reflection anymore, gaze falling lower, palming the curve of her ass with one hand as the other reaches in the back pocket of his undone jeans, extricating a foil packet.

“Well well well…for a guy claiming that their date meant nothing much, you come well equipped.”

His eyes roll in the back of his head as he sighs, hands making quick work of his black jeans, her eyes landing on the hard line of his cock in his dark boxers.

"Ever heard of casual sex, Rey?"

She reaches back with one hand, holding his gaze in the mirror as her fingers trace the length of him through the thin fabric, hissing when he works his boxers down his muscled hips and her hand meets hot skin.

"Is what we're doing right now casual, Ben?"

He’s hard and flushed, aroused, blushed tip leaking already. He rips the foil packet with his teeth, before making quick work of the thin latex.

“I'm not sure yet. You’d rather I go around and fuck random girls raw? Get an illegitimate kid or two?”

“How many girls since we broke up really is the question…”

His hands grab a firm hold of her hips and her breath catches in her throat when he pushes in, breaching her without warning, a low moan of satisfaction escaping his throat.

Fitting all of his large cock inside her in a long stroke that brings the sharpness of hip-bones flush against her ass. Her skin erupting in fevered chills at the stretch, knees faltering.

“Be quiet…” he whispers against her ear, chest tight against her back, hips slowly rolling forward at an angle that manages to get him even deeper inside her, head falling back against his shoulder.

Back arched like a tensed bow, letting him feel the strong pulse in the pit of her stomach.

Not that she wanted to say anything snarky at the moment, more focused on getting her breathing, her heart, under control.

He doesn’t wait for her to recover, reaching up to grab her shoulders in a vice-like grip, pushing her back on him. Cursing under his breath when her lower back curls up, opening herself to his thrusts, giving him the full curve of her ass.

He’s not gentle, fucking into her in hard strokes that turn her legs to jelly, her hips bruising against the edge of the counter with each merciless thrust, and she loves him for it.

She loves him for giving her exactly what she needs.

For _knowing_ what she needs without asking.

Ben knows her better than anyone.

The heat soars in the small, windowless bathroom, a thin sheen of sweat glossing his beautiful skin in the dim light. Muscles in his toned stomach clenching and releasing with each sway of his hips.

She was thankful for the mirror, seeing his mouth go slack when she started pushing back against him with each stroke, rolling her hips like she’s hungry for more.

And she is, arching her lower back just to hear him curse against the back of her neck.

His rhythm is merciless, relentless, and she can take it, take all of him, thankful for the loud music outside the bathroom drowning their loud moans, the heavy rattle of the counter as he pounds into her with wild abandon.

It feels so good to have him inside her, deep, strongly pulsing, the steady roll of his hips.

His hands roam her body through her thin knit dress, straightening her until her back sits flush against his chest. Hot mouth on her kissing and biting at the soft skin between neck and shoulder, sucking a bruise in the tenderness of her flesh.

His big hands reach up, cupping her small breasts through her dress, nipples hard and pressing against his palms. She arches back, pushing her chest against his hands, turning her head to him to wordlessly plead for his mouth on hers.

There is a pause, hips and breath slowing. His hands on her heart.

Ben’s eyes meeting hers, making the pit of her stomach roil with their intensity. She could drown in a gaze like this and would be all too willing to be swallowed up at this very instant.

His kiss is deep, tugging at her heartstrings.

She can feel him hot and pulsing inside her, stretching her open and yet he stills completely when she returns his kiss, the softness of his mouth making her knees buckle.

She feels like she can’t get enough of it, panting desperately when he pulls away.

Something has changed, right this instant. She can feel it in the thickness of the air around them, in the way he looks at her with eyes as bottomless as the sea.

“I want to see you come…” he murmurs, lips touching the shell of her ear in an echo of the kiss they just shared.

His right hand travels back down her body, fingers finding the moist heat between her legs, the apex of her cunt, and she gasps when he presses up against the most sensitive part of her delicate anatomy.

He has intimate knowledge of her body, its weaknesses, watching their reflections in the mirror as his fingers circle against the hot slickness of her clit, her cunt clenching around his cock with each stroke.

His hips roll again, slow, deliberate, making the heat in her core bubble over and spill down to her toes.

His hand is strong and bracing on her heart, her moans only getting more desperate when he picks up the pace again, out of rhythm, panting against the curve of her shoulder.

He watches her come undone in the dirty mirror, her legs trembling as her orgasm crashes through her, holding her steady against him as his own follows.

His face goes lax with pleasure, spilling into her in deep strokes that rake her insides and make her cry her throat raw.

He curses against her neck, skin burning hot against hers, holding her still and tight against him as his hips slow and still.

Bracing her against his body with hands that feel like they’d never let go.

She feels good, safe, ignores her heart screaming that this is a terrible idea.

_This will not end well. He’ll hurt your heart, again…_

He gently pulls out of her, and before she has time to react, he has her turned to face him, his mouth against hers, kissing her with a sweetness that makes her heart break.

A kiss that feels like homecoming.

The animalic scent of their mingled bodies, salty and deliciously cloying clings to his soft skin. The green notes of his cologne, the headiness of bourbon and honey, sweet on her tongue.

The pit of her stomach still roiling with desire.

He looks a little dazed when they pull apart, eyes gazing into hers in a shameless way that makes her skin feel on fire. He looks wrecked, carnal, absolutely beautiful.

Glorious in the aftermath of their joining.

“We messed up, didn’t we?” he murmurs, easing a strand of hair out of her eyes.

“In many ways.”

He smirks at her reply, warm hands cupping her hips, bringing their bodies flush together again.

Her entire body is alive with sensitiveness and aftershocks, and it's perfect.

“Come over to my place.” Ben asks, a hint of pleading in his tone.

“You and I both know it's a terrible idea.”

He shrugs, conceding slightly, but still relentless.

“Probably. But I _want_ you. I want you again, and again…until morning comes.”

The words tug at her insides, flesh between her legs tingling at the prospect, insatiable, as if he hadn’t been fucking her already.

Her traitorous body. It wanted him, wanted more.

“What will we do, when the morning comes?”

His hands slide up her back, settling between her shoulder blades.

“We’ll cross the bridge when we get there.”

* * *

Outside of the bathroom, the party goes on, raucous and loud.

They’ve gone unnoticed. It won’t probably be for long, considering she’s forgotten her underwear on the bathroom tile and that eventually their dates will notice the two of them are missing.

She’s too elated to care right now, her body still limber with pleasure.

Outside the air is crisp and cold, despite her jacket, and she sighs thankfully when he gathers her against him one armed, ordering them an uber with the other hand.

He’s warm and solid, and he smells delicious, burying her face against his chest, crawling against him in the opening of his unzipped jacket.

“You were so jealous of my date, weren’t you…” she asks, mouthing the words against the hollow of his throat.

His arms tighten around her waist, holding her even closer.

“I wanted to kill him, pretty much.”

“I thought you were over me…”

Ben buries his nose in her hair, breath warm.

“I wanted to be, don’t get me wrong. Our breakup messed me up, hard. I don’t think I could ever get over you. Us. We had something…unique. You make me feel things so strongly.”

“I was _never_ over you.” she murmurs, and his arms hold tighter.

It feels good to say it out loud, to come clean.

Her passionate feelings for him resurfacing like a tide.

“Lets be less reckless, see where it takes us.” he replies.

No real commitment, no labels. She can work with this.

She wants to work with this, badly.

She reaches in the lapels of his jacket, knowing where to find the rectangular pocket where Ben usually kept a flask.

And there was one, the contents sloshing around as she extricated it.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough for tonight?” he asks, laughing as she tilts the flask to her lips, wincing at the burn.

Ben was more of a bourbon guy, but the contents were smooth and smoky, going down her throat like a line of fire.

Whiskey. Her drink of choice.

“If it wasn’t for the drinking, we wouldn’t be here…” she teases, downing another healthy swig, “Whiskey hm? You were feeling nostalgic.”

He grins, face haloed by the cool light of the streetlight above them.

“Maybe just a little…”

The alcohol makes her world reel beautifully, laughing when he lifts her off her feet to kiss her, deep and generous.

There is a small part of her mind telling her to be careful, that she could be hurt again, drowned under the deafening elation of being held and kissed with abandon by the boy who makes her heart race.

For now, she was more than happy to bask in the glory of her wild heart, Ben holding her tight in the winter cold.

There was always tomorrow to be rational.

And if not, there was always more whiskey to make the world burn bright and perfect.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> So maybe they get back together and start a dance company? Idek...
> 
> Oof sorry for that, talk about a load of melted garbage of epic proportions...this is unbeta-ed and alpha-ed by me so all mistakes are my own.
> 
> For everyone who asked for a Beach meet-cute on my last story: Its coming along, just slower than intended because...I'm gonna chapter it whoops. Maybe five chapters total at the very most but I want most of it down before I start posting, I'm thinking the first instalment should be up this week.
> 
> Thanks a lot for reading and your comments and kudos are keeping alive in this trying time <3


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